The Cow is Always Right
by hippy.intellect
Summary: Strange things happen at a restaurant in Santa Fe called Food Town. COMPLETELY RANDOM! Complete.
1. Of Ticket Stubs and Cows

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING STORY IS HAS NO PLOT AND IS INCREDIBLY RANDOM. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED OR ALLERGIC TO EITHER OF THESE ELEMENTS I BID YOU READ THIS NOT!

I own me and I co-own Food Town. I do not own anything else in this story. Inspired by Over The Moon from RENT and Out Out Damn Spot by Anthony Rapp… with a teeny mention of Cabaret- from Cabaret.

The Cow is Always Right

It was a day like any other day. I was outside Food Town, a restaurant in Santa Fe owned by my best friend and me where the walls were made out of cotton candy, all the waitresses wear back and white-striped scarves and the waiters wear sparkly top hats. Anyway, I was as happy as a walrus, feeding the pigeons. When I noticed when one of them began choking on a piece of food and died, I made a mental note to give them smooth peanut butter instead of chunky next time.

I was beginning to get bored when all of a sudden John and Elsie the cow came down from over the moon and landed with flourish next to me. John dismounted Elsie and asked me if I happened to know where his ticket stub went. That's when I started to sense that something was amiss.

'Did you check your hat?' I inquired. He nodded in response. 'Your coat?'

'Yep.'

'Your… mind?'

'Now what would my ticket stub be doing in my mind?' he demanded.

'Skiing,' I answered. I mean, duh. Then he disappeared into a puff of purple smoke. I sighed and looked to Elsie. 'How're things with Maureen?' I asked.

'To tell you the truth, I don't see her a lot anymore,' she answered. 'I spent most of my time in the four sordid rooms I share with Liza Minelli.'

'Riiiight,'

We both watched in silence as one of the pigeons took out a frying pan and knocked another one unconscious in order to get the last piece of the peanut butter sandwich. Finally I broke the silence.

'You ever notice how the world isn't purple?' I questioned her.

'Well, it's not purple, but it's not not purple,' she replied. Of course she was right. The cow was always right.

So, I guess the reason I'm writing this is to remind all of you that (although sometimes we may forget), no matter who you ask, (Mother Teresa, Adam Pascal, your cat, George Bush, Gandhi's dad, J. K. Rowling, your best friend's sister's boyfriend's aunt's elementary school teacher who is now retired and living in Alaska), you don't really know the answer until you ask the cow. Because the cow is always right.


	2. The Death of Bob

This chapter is dedicated to my friend Jude, who is a pretzel, and thought that Riff Raff was a dog and Mark Cohen was the dude that played Roger. I do not own Roger or Mark, Elsie, Caroline, La Vie Boheme, Bob, the name Riff Raff, the copy of Seventeen magazine, or the two Italian men. I do own myself, the ketchup bottle, and co-own Food Town.

Chapter Two

The Death of Bob

It was a day like any other day. At the restaurant, I was cleaning up a table which had had a tragic accident involving peanut butter, a copy of Seventeen magazine (August issue of 1998) and two Italian men. Just then, a little dog entered. His name, we have learned, was Riff Raff.

'Hey,' I greeted him.

'Hey,' he responded.

'I see you're a dog,' I said conversationally.

He looked at himself in a mirror that just happened to be beside him. 'So I am,' he said. 'So, um, anyway, I came here to tell you that Bob died.'

I stared at him. '…'

'…'

'…'

'…'

'Bob's… DEAD! How could this happen? What did we do to deserve this? Why am I only informed now? MY LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE!' And with that, I stabbed myself with a ketchup bottle, falling to the ground.

Riff Raff poked me. 'You okay?' he inquired.

'No, I'm dead!'

He walked out. A minute later, Roger walked in. He looked around. 'Um… hello?' he called.

I attempted to attracted attention to myself by clearing my throat loudly. 'We're closed,' I informed him. 'On account of me being dead.'

'I see,' he nodded sagely. 'You going to have a funeral?'

'Sure, why not? Will you conduct it? I asked him.

'Sure,' he answered. Then he began to sing. 'Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes. Here she lies! No one-'

'Hold it!' I sat up, interrupting him. 'You cannot sing that song, because Mark sings that song. I know my La Vie Boheme, mein herr!'

He shifted his eyes. 'How do you know I'm not Mark?

'Because you're Roger,' I answered.

'How do you know I'm not…' he paused. 'Roger being played by Mark.'

I sighed. 'Because Adam Pascal plays Roger.'

'I think you're making way too much sense for someone who just stabbed herself with a ketchup bottle?'

'How do you know _I'm _not the ketchup bottle?' I asked him.

Roger/Mark regarded me. 'You're not a ketchup bottle,' he responded flatly. 'You're just in denial because Bob died.'

My eyes swelled up with tears at the mere mention of his name. Beloved Bob, precious Bob! What I wouldn't give to bring him back! With that last thought, I took a mustard bottle and plunged it into my chest. Roger sighed and walked out of Food Town, leaving me on the floor.

The funny thing was, I had no idea who Bob was.


	3. The Squeegee Man's Squeegee, MrSqueegee

I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, and it's pretty short, but it's better than nothing. Inspired yet again by Jude's wacky illusions about RENT. This is how this story came to be...

Me: Jude. I need you to choose one of these names (hands her list of RENT characters)

Jude: Okay, let's see. Collins is already a volleyball. (scratches Collins out) Angel? Angel sounds so corny, with those little wings… so she can be a cheeeeeeeese. (draws a cheese with wings)

Me: (completely collapse into hysterical laughter, ends up crying)

Jude: (Finally picks Squeegee Man)

I do not own anything here. I apologize if I misspelled avidazing.

Anyway. Read. Review. Thou knowest the drill.

Chapter Three:

The Squeegee Man's Squeegee, Mr. Squeegee.

It was a day like any other day. I was looking up random words in my German-Spanish dictionary when in walked the Squeegee Man. He had a squeegee.

I looked at him angrily. 'Can't you read?' I demanded, pointing to the sign that read 'NO SQUEEGEES!'

'But…' his eyes filled with tears. 'Mr. Squeegee!' He petted his squeegee, Mr. Squeegee, lovingly. I grabbed Mr. Squeegee from his arms and threw it out the window, where it was promptly eaten by a pigeon with rabies, who flew to New York and regurgitated it while flying over the Life Café, where Angel Dumott-Shunard happened to be leaving. Mr. Squeegee hit Angel on the head and, with its magical powers, turned her into a cheese. With wings!

'You killed Mr. Squeegee!' the Squeegee Man cried. 'You must die!'

'You can't kill me because I already stabbed myself with a ketchup bottle,' I informed him calmly. 'Did you know that avidazing means adios?'

'I MUST AVENGE- no kidding? Adios?'

That was the day the Squeegee man gave up being a squeegee man to become a German-Spanish translator. Meanwhile, in New York, Collins found Angel on the floor outside the café and ate her. And that is how Angel really died.


	4. Peanut Butter Squirrels

The past two chapters have been based on my friend Jude's lack of knowledge in the area of musicals, but _this _chapter is based on my own lack of knowledge of Eminem. My friend Marshall was talking about the song The Kids, and it said 'Let's see if the squirrels want em' but I heard 'Let's eat the squirrels… wannem.' Et voila! Also based on the 'research' done by Marshall and my other friend Little Billie.

In all seriousness though, if you are offended by the word 'retarded' don't read this. I don't own anything.

Peanut Butter Squirrels

It was a day like any other day. Except it wasn't. Today I was releasing a new dish at Food Town: squirrel seasoned with peanut butter sauce. Hey, stop cringing! I see you. It's good, I swear it!

The first person to order it was Roger. Well, in all honesty, he ordered the peanut butter chicken, but we were out of chickens and I _really _wanted to have someone taste this new meal.

Roger looked down at his plate. 'You're sure this is chicken?'

'Nope,' I replied. 'It's squirrel.'

His eyes shot up to me and he stared at me like I was crazy or something. Seriously, what's up with that? 'Squirrel?' he repeated. 'What the walrus possessed you to cook squirrels?'

'Eminem,' I informed him.

Aah…' he looked down at the squirrel smothered in peanut butter, then at me, staring at him with my puppy dog eyes. He lifted his fork and took a tiny piece to his mouth. I leaned closer to see his reacting. Then-

My friend Little Billie and Elsie the cow came galloping into the restaurant.

'We've got it!' Billie cried happily. 'We've got the results!'

'To the experiment?' I asked. Elsie mooed joyously in response. Roger cocked his eyebrow, confused.

'Elsie, Little Billie and I have been doing research for quite a while now,' I explained. 'And now they've analyzed the results…'

'-And come to the conclusion…' added Billie. 'That it's okay to be a wittle bit wetarded!'

There was silence. Then the room erupted into cheers. Everyone was glad to hear that they were normal... for the most part.

'Squirrels all around!' I declared. Funnily enough, that's when all the cheering ended.

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	5. The Cow, the Potato and the Puppet

I don't own Maureen, Elsie, Just Lost It or Mockingbird. I do own mashed peanut butter potatoes. Would you like some?

The Cow, the Potato and the Puppet

It was a day like any other day. Honestly, this time it really was. I was observing the front page of my favourite newspaper, The Bohemian Times. I was reading the headlines (Lost Ticket Stub Found in Pigeon's Stomach, The Truth Behind Bob's Death, Squirrels Revolt, and How I Ate My Drag Queen Boyfriend) when in walked Maureen. My head shot up.

'Hellowouldyoulikeapeanutbuttersquirrel?' I asked her. I may have said it a little too quickly.

'What I would like,' replied Maureen. 'Is a potato.'

'Mashed peanut butter potatoes?'

'No…'

'Baked potatoes with peanut butter, then?'

'No.'

'Um… French fries with peanut butter ketchup sauce?'

'I just want a raw potato' she sighed. 'And I want to name it Jeff.' I blinked.

'O-kay,' I responded. 'I'll just, uh, get it then.' I disappeared into the back.

Maureen began quietly whistling Just Lose It while waiting in anticipation for her potato. She wondered why more people don't socialize with potatoes. Potato is a funny word, she decided. You can use a potato any way you want to. Just then, Elsie walked in, whistling Mockingbird. Spotting Maureen, the cow froze. Maureen turned around anyway and saw her.

'Elsie,' she said awkwardly. 'Um… hi.'

'Hi…' answered the cow. 'How's life?'

Suddenly Maureen's eyes filled with tears. 'You wouldn't know, would you?' she cried. 'You're too busy spending time with your precious Liza Minnelli in those four sordid rooms of yours!' She threw herself onto the ground.

'Oh, Maureen' Elsie said sadly. 'I'm sorry I left. I'm just so tired of those protests. I like Diet Coke!' She patted Maureen on the back awkwardly. I mean, how else could you pat someone on the back with a hoof?

I entered, holding in my hand the most perfect potato ever to be beheld! 'I have your potato, Maureen, and I think you're going to like Jeff!'

Elsie stared in horror then rounded on Maureen. 'You tried to replace me,' she accused. 'With a POTATO!'

Maureen jumped up. 'Yeah?' she said angrily. 'Well, you tried to replace Mark with a sock puppet!'

'That was one time!' Elsie argued, then let out an enraged moo. 'And you killed it!'

But that, my friends, is another story.

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REVIEW!


	6. Jones and Jesus

This is the last chapter of this story. Sorry it took me so long to update. Might have had something to do with the fact that, as PrettyBoyFrontmanLove pointed out, I had 2006 words. Which I found cool. Heh. Anyway, watch for the sequel, The Pig is Always Left. (groans from the peanut gallery) Oh, shut up. It'll be good, I promise.

Thanks to Jude and Marshall (who, I should make clear for the sake of this chapter, are actually girls) for ideas for this chapter. I don't own Rent, Rent owns me. Oh, and I poke some fun at Jesus in this, so if you don't like don't read.

Chapter six:

Jones and Jesus

Food Town was closing. It was a sad, sad day in the lives of many, but it had to be done. The decision was financial (for some reason, business went downhill about the time I introduced peanut butter squirrels) but it was also emotional. It was bad enough that this was the place I had heard Bob had died, but then when Indiana Jones swooped in and killed Mark, grabbing a peanut butter sandwich on his way out… I couldn't take it anymore. I stabbed myself with a salt shaker and closed down the shop. My friends and family had gathered in the restaurant, to mourn for its loss and Mark's death, and to have one last peanut buttered meal.

'I told you this would happen,' my dear friend Jude turned to me. 'I told you Indiana Jones would kill Mark.'

'You told me he'd kill Anthony Rapp,' I corrected her.

'Same difference.'

'Not the same different!' I snapped. 'They're different people! Even though they both have the same soulful light blue eyes…'

'And no colour in their faces to speak of…' continued Jude.

'Beautiful blond locks…'

'Skinny little wrists...' added my mom.

_Time for a subject change_¸ I thought. 'So, anyway, Roger said he'd come by today.' I saw my friend Marshall's ears perk up. She had recently realized that her life's true love was not, as we believed before, Eminem, but instead Roger.

'Really?'

'Yeah, he and Mimi should be here any time now.' I watched her face drop as I said this. I hoped she hadn't brought the blowtorch. All we needed was for Mimi to die, too.

Minutes later, the door opened and in walked Roger and Mimi. Marshall's eyes grew the size of… something really big and before you could say 'bumbling bambling bunch of baboons', she was on Mimi. Not with a blowtorch, as many of us had expected but clinging to her leg.

'It's Jesus!' she proclaimed. Everyone looked around, confused. She continued. 'It's Jesus, the son of God, here before us all!'

'Is she talking about me?' Mimi asked, staring down at the adolescent clinging to her leg.

'Yup,' I replied.

'I see…'

For a while after that, there was silence. Roger and Mimi sat down (though Mimi had some trouble, what with the kid clinging to her leg and the fact that her pants were, as always, way too tight). We all ate some peanut buttered chicken (the squirrels had escaped). Then, the Squeegee Man looked up from hisGerman/Spanish dictionary and asked a question.

'Why did Indiana Jones kill Mark?'

I gulped guiltily.

'Why did you just gulp guiltily?' he asked me accusingly.

I burst into tears. 'IT'S ALL MY FAULT!' I cried. 'INDIANA KILLED MARK BECAUSE I SPELT HIS NAME WRONG!' I put my head down and began pounding on the table, my face redder than… something really red.

'How did you spell it?' Roger questioned.

Jude spoke up. After all, she had been there. She had been the one to correct me. 'Two words,' she answered. 'Like, Indie- andAnna. He was very offended.'

'So he just swooped in and killed Mark,' Mimi continued. 'Because you spelt his name wrong?'

I nodded, sniffing.

'That's messed up,' Elsie the cow concluded.

We all nodded in agreement. Once again, the cow was right.


End file.
